


Home

by WindCrystal



Category: Harvest Moon, Harvest Moon: Friends of Mineral Town
Genre: Angst and Humor, Aromantic, Botany, Complicated Relationships, Depression, Deviates From Canon, Everyone Has Issues, F/M, Friendship, Humor, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Polyamory, Queerplatonic Relationships, Sarcasm, Science, Slice of Life, Slow Build, Slow Burn, aro!Claire, only for realism's sake, salty narrator, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 02:26:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6835252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WindCrystal/pseuds/WindCrystal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Last December, Claire's life shattered. Last January, her old professor gave her a chance to rebuild it. This February, she will take that chance, and settle herself into a faraway little place called Mineral Town. It's not the sort of life her urban upbringing raised her for, but perhaps with a little work, she can look at this miserable patch of land she's been gifted and find a way to call it home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

**Author's Note:**

> Well hello there! This is not my first foray into fanworks, but its certainly my first in years, and my first on this site. Thank you for picking it up. 
> 
> This will not update often, but I promise you it will update. I hope you enjoy it!

The countryside whizzed past in shades of green and brown, all muted with a wash of grey from the overcast late evening sky. I watched it all pass from behind the smudged glass of a Greyhound bus, munching from a little pack of powdered donutettes as I went. I was alone in the third to last row, just me and an audiobook I’d ran through once already and was just starting to hear a second time over. For not the first time that day, I closed my eyes, pressing my temple against the chill glass, and wondered what the hell I was doing.

The town I was destined for was only two or three hours outside of the city, but you’d never guess it based on the rigmarole it took to get there. No busses passed through. I had to sift through a mountain of drivers to find one willing to make a pit stop out that far. No cable companies would touch it. The area wasn’t covered in my cell plan. Most maps wouldn’t even acknowledge its existence, not that I blamed them much. The little township boasted a population of well under fifty, and hardly warranted the small black dot it made on my roadmap. It was literally the middle of nowhere, and just to top off the misery, it was going to be my new home. Goodbye, city-bred comforts. No more hot water or wifi for me. I was headed back into the dark ages, and already mentally preparing to trade my jeans for long skirts and take up churning butter. 

Rain was just beginning to pitter against the window when the driver called back that we were nearing my stop. I sat up from my reverie and licked powdered sugar from my fingers. Since I had the whole space to myself, I’d let my bags burst apart and spill their contents all across the floor and the three-seater cushion I had been calling home of the last few hours. I wadded all my necessities together and crammed them unceremoniously down the gullet of my duffle bag, which I hooked over my shoulder along with the tatty knapsack I’d been using since high school. The bus ambled to a halt and I stood up, making my way to the front while the vehicle hissed and lowered on its own wheels, like a hound hunkering down on its haunches. 

As I stepped down the stairs into the morose happy hour drizzle, I was surprised to see someone waiting for me under the leaky awning that passed for a bus stop. Dr. Basil had told me he’d send someone to help with the unloading, but after so long of plowing my way through the travel process alone I’d rather forgotten. 

The man under the awning was shorter than me, which given my height was saying something. He had little round glasses perched precariously on a big round nose, and a ridiculously poufy mustache that flipped up in a jovial point at either side of his mouth. He wore a bright red suitcoat, neatly pressed, and a top hat that made me wonder if I’d stumbled back in time a few decades. The entirety of the little man bespoke equal parts cheerfulness and formality, and it made me keenly aware of my own appearance. Travel-worn, in my worst jeans, with a dark knit cap hiding yesterday’s bedhead, I couldn’t really make for a very welcome sight. I did my best to work up what I assumed was a winning, friendly smile as I trotted though the mud over to him and held a hand out to shake. “Hey! You from Mineral Town?”

“Indeed I am! Mayor Thomas, at your service!” His voice carried like a circus barker’s. His handshake was solid, though, and I took that as a good sign of character. “Claire Caldwell, I presume?”

“Yeah, hi.” I pulled my hand back to tuck an errant strand of blonde back under my cap. Perhaps if I looked less like I’d spent the night on the street I could pretend I had all my ducks in as neat of rows as he did. “Uh, thanks for coming to meet me.” 

“Oh, it’s nothing.” Thomas waved off the thanks with a blustery movement of his hand. “I find it fitting and proper that all new residents of Mineral Town receive a proper greeting!”

“That’s nice of you. Thanks.” I shifted a little on my feet as we spoke, trying to move the weight of my bags into a more comfortable position. I didn’t want to put them down, lest they start sopping up cold mud, but they were pretty damn heavy and Thomas didn’t look like he was keen on helping me anytime soon. “We don’t have much longer to go, do we?”

“Not at all, it’s not far.” Thomas said, with a small sympathetic smile. “I expect you must be tired by now.”

“You have no idea…”

“Then you’ll be pleased to know that the townspeople have taken the liberty of furnishing the house for you.” Thomas said. “Bed, kitchen, dining set, the works. You won’t need to add much to make it a home.”

The mention of a bed made my tired ears perk up. The idea of fresh sheets sounded wonderful right about now. “Oh wow, really? Thanks You’re too kind.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble.” He gave his hand another airy wave and—thank god—turned himself to leave and beckoned me to follow with a crook of his wrist. I hastened after him as quickly as my load would allow. My duffle was starting to cut painfully into the crook between my left shoulder and my neck, and my knapsack was dragging heavy at my back. Thomas did not so much as offer a hand to help, and I unloaded my displeasure at the whole of this situation by thinking very rude things at him as we squished our way through the mud. 

Thomas steered me along the edge of the bus stop and behind rotten little back wall, where I was greeted by the sight of a real, live horse and wagon. Or, rather live horse, nonlive wagon. It looked straight out of one of those historical recreation centers, where tourists pay good money to do old-timey chores. I stopped in my tracks to stare at the sight while Thomas lifted his tottering self aboard the front seat. He glanced down at me in concern. “Well, aren’t you coming?”

“I thought that was only a myth.”

“Pardon?”

“I thought…. Er, I didn’t think… you know…” I struggled for words to describe the blast from the past currently stationed in front of me. I mean, I technically had words, but they were all kind of rude and I didn’t want to say them out loud. “I’ve, um…. Never ridden in one of these. I didn’t think anyone still did.”

Thomas laughed heartily at my silly city-slicker ways. “Well, you’ll need to get used to it! No one in Mineral Town uses cars.”

“Uh, ok, I’ll try.” Good god, he couldn’t be serious. This place was right out of the dark ages. Cars were ubiquitous. Cars were necessities. Even the Amish sometimes used cars. Butter churning, here I come…

I hefted my bags into the back of the wagon one by one. I hoped they wouldn’t get too wet before we got there. I swung myself up onto the seat beside Thomas and he spurred the horses into a pleasantly paced trot, while I mumbled little groans of self-pity to myself and tried to rub away the ache in my shoulders.

Thomas left me in silence for a few moments, which I greatly appreciated. I needed a minute to take a quick mental stock and settle myself into the knowledge that I was crossing a threshold into ye old times. The man seemed to have a good sense of what to say and when. Of course, my shoulders didn’t want to admit such a nice thing about him yet, and so my thoughts stayed dark and mean for a little while longer. 

After a while he gave a little conversation-starting clearing of the throat and asked, “So, er, are you excited to be here?”

“Of course.” I said back automatically. It was only a technical lie. “This seems like a really interesting little town. I think I’ll enjoy my stay here.”

“You’ll be working the old farm, I hear?” Thomas pressed on, and I had to bite my cheek to hold back a bitter retort. Of what, I’m not sure, but that was about the fourth time so far someone had assumed I was just coming here to grow a few turnips, and it was starting to grate on me. I had a PhD, goddamnit. It had nearly killed me to get but it was mine, and I didn’t like all this insinuation that I was throwing that down the drain to go live off the land with the hippies and harvest sprites. This was real work I was doing here. Important science stuff. It might have been modified a little for my current situation—ok, modified a lot, but I wasn’t going to think about it—but this was a proper study, with full funding by an accredited botanical society.

But… yeah, let’s be honest. Part of it was indeed working a farm. 

So instead of whipping out my hard-earned credentials like I wanted to, I merely gave a smile I’m sure pulled sour in the corners and said, “I will be, yes, as part of an anatomical and morphological study of the flora of Mother’s Hill.” 

“For how long were you staying, again?”

“Just a year, unless I find I like the work.” Or unless the shrinks decide one year in the middle of literal nowheresville wasn’t long enough to de-program the crazy out of my brain. I wasn’t keen on mentioning that last bit until absolutely necessary. 

Of course, luck being the double-edged sword it was, I didn’t need to. In the delicate tone of someone broaching the subject of a fart in the room everyone would rather not notice, Thomas said, “Basil didn’t mention that you’d be helping him with that project. He said you were here recovering from a bit of a spell.”

I had to grit my teeth to keep from yelling into the gloomy grey heavens. Fuck you, Dr. Basil. Fuck you and your complete inability to be discreet. Once I’d swallowed down my initial reaction I responded, with forced evenness, “Yes, but I would… rather not talk about the details.”

“I know, I know, I figured.” Thomas said quickly. “I just wanted to say, the townspeople are very nice. We have a great doctor, and our pastor is always available to talk…” 

“I know, thanks.” I told him tersely. I was already acquainted with the doctor, at least in theory. I’d had to transfer all my prescriptions and records to him. 

The drizzle started to clear up as we lapsed into silence once more, broken only by the creak and trot of our vehicle (if it could even be called that). I looked down at my lap and fiddled with one of the many holes in my glove, trying to ignore the similar holes gnawing at my insides. I didn’t want to be here anymore, cold with little diamonds of rain decorating my outfit like a bejeweled hobo. I didn’t want to be seated beside this little firecracker of a man, who seemed unbearably kind and unbearably careless all at once. I never wanted any of this. I closed my eyes and tried to pretend I was back on the Greyhound bus headed for a more civilized form of home, where I could find a basic 9-to-5 and plod on in a happier form of misery than this and—

“We’re nearly there.” Thomas piped up, which was good because any longer with my own thoughts and I was probably going to start bawling again. I nodded and glanced up to see, but Thomas pulled the horse to a stop before we could crest the hill. He turned to me, and returned my confused frown with a surprisingly impish little grin. “It’s a real fixer-upper, you know that?”

“My new place? Yeah, sure.” Basil had mentioned something like that. The more disarrayed the merrier, I had told him. Maybe slapping on a few coats of paint and unclogging a bit of plumbing would help me fix my own life, or something like that, via the logic of symbolic movie montages. 

Thomas’s smile only widened at that. I wasn’t sure whether to find it charming, or worrisome. I veered toward the former, and smiled back a little as he said, “How about we have a little fun with the reveal, then?”

“Fun?”

“Oh, you know, make it a surprise!” He suggested, with a childlike enthusiasm. I shrugged my indifference and he leaned down to rummage in the little compartment under his seat. After a second, he brought forth a red knit scarf, which he held out to me with great delight. “Here, tie this over your eyes.” 

I took it and did as he suggested without complaint. To be honest, I rather liked the idea. It injected a thrilling note back into the whole affair. The element of surprise rendered this no longer the poor result of a sorry situation, but an adventure. I was going out into the wilderness to test my luck like a game show contestant, and this was my introduction episode, where I would be shown my challenge with a sweeping swell of instrumental music and the crowd would drink up my dramatized reaction. 

So I sat in wooly darkness, with faint but renewed excitement, as Thomas gave the reins a little snap and we continued on our way. I was forced to try and pick out details of the environment based on sound, smell, and the jostlings of my ass as the wagon bumbled over the landscape. There was the fresh scent of pine trees undercutting the rain and mud, dissimilar from the air fresheners advertised as the same but recognizable anyway. The ground sloped down, and leveled off once more. I heard the bubble of a stream, and I was bounced around a bit by the telltale texture of wood slats. We must have been crossing a bridge. At long last, we stopped, and I heard the thump of Thomas’s boots on the ground.

“Here!” He said, and I felt a hand take mine. I held it tightly as Thomas led me down carefully from my seat, and let him turn me around face whichever direction I guess he deemed best for farm-sighting.

“Here we are!” He said, and I couldn’t help but bite my lip, because this was it, moment of truth. With a flourish, Thomas untied the scarf. The darkness fell from my eyes, and for the first time I could see my new home.

This couldn’t be the place. 

This couldn’t.

This was supposed to be a relaxing new location to start my life anew and accomplish important feats of science at my own pace and all that other bullcrap Basil had said. 

It wasn’t.

To say it was it was a fixer-upper… that would be more than an understatement, and to say it was so would be a disrespect to other understatements. The other understatements could sue you for slander and win uncontested if you tried calling it an understatement.

But, still, that was the easiest way to put it. This place simply wasn’t what I had been promised. The field, though large, was lousy with weeds and debris. It look like a tornado had dropped a barn’s worth of biological crap out there for me to deal with. Every building from the house to the hencoop was in a shoddy state of disrepair. To call this place “livable” was a joke. 

I looked at Thomas. He was grinning like a five-year-old who’d just blasted me with a watergun from behind. “Welcome to Riverside Farm!”

It took every ounce of human kindness I had within me, plus some I know I most certainly must have pulled out on loan from somewhere, not to begin bashing his head in with every single item in my knapsack right now. And I mean every single one, not simply the ones that would do actual damage; I hereby count every single piece of gum I had in my purse as suitable smashing materials for thoughtless men in bright red suits. I had stressed for too long, muscled through too much paperwork, been through too much heartache over ripping up the sad remains of my life to be greeted not only with a hellhole home, but such innocent mirth at my expense.

Of course, Id didn’t hit the man, or do anything of the sort. Such vengeful fantasies stayed firmly locked in the theatre of my mind as I bid Thomas a quiet and polite farewell, and tried not to cry. By the time I’d dumped my bags into the house—the interior of which resembled a funeral home for spiders—and stepped out again into the chill air, he was already gone, and I was left alone in the dilapidated field.

Welcome to Mineral Town, then.

Welcome home.

**Author's Note:**

> claire's not having a good day  
> I promise she'll be less of a sad sack next time.


End file.
